Odd, Immortal Lover
by gw
Summary: Hermione takes on a series of research projects in her spare time, unaware of her client's true identity and how her work will really be used. HG/LV
1. The First Project

Hermione Granger was now in her sixth year at Hogwarts, but she still hadn't decided what she wanted to do with her life. This wasn't due to apathy, procrastination, or lack of time to decide; the simple fact was that her interests were so diverse, that she didn't know which career would give her the greatest sense of satisfaction and the opportunity to contribute back to the world as much as possible. She could easily see herself being successful doing just about anything, as long as it didn't involve divination or flying.

To keep her options open, Professor McGonagall had advised her, near the end of the previous school year, to take NEWT-level Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Herbology, Charms, and Potions. Although these were challenging classes, she still found it easy to keep on top of her schoolwork.

It was a sunny Monday afternoon in September. Hermione had been sitting in the stand of the quidditch pitch, watching the Gryffindor team practice, when an idea suddenly came to her. She left the stand before practice was over (much to Ron's dismay, when he realized this after the fact) and headed up to the castle.

McGonagall was alone in her office. Hermione knocked against the jamb of the open door to get her attention.

McGonagall looked up to see who it was. "Hello, Miss Granger."

"Professor."

"Is there something I can help you with?"

"Possibly." Hermione stepped inside and took a seat in the chair beside the desk, where she customarily sat whenever seeking advice from her head-of-house. "I was thinking about my career options."

McGonagall removed her spectacles and set them down before her. "Oh? Have you made a decision?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, not yet. Actually, I was thinking that maybe I've been taking the wrong approach to the problem."

"How so?"

"Well, until now, I was trying to decide which subject interested me the most, with the intention of basing my career off of that."

"A logical approach." 

Hermione smiled briefly before continuing. "But, of course, that approach doesn't suit me very well since I have such diverse interests. Then I thought, maybe I should instead try to find a career that involves a large number of subjects. That would keep things interesting."

"Ah...I see what you're getting at." McGonagall steepled her fingers and leaned back in her chair, thinking.

Hermione glanced out the window. _Ron and Harry are probably wondering why I abandoned them. I'll have to apologize later._

"Have you considered being a professional researcher? That would allow you to explore―and stay current in―multiple subjects, utilize your methodical problem-solving skills, and capitalize on your love of reading. Some positions require experimentation, while others purely involve compiling already-existing information."

Hermione instantly returned her attention to McGonagall, scrunching her brow as she considered the prospect. "No, I hadn't thought of that..."

McGonagall smiled. "It would seem to be an option that's relatively well-suited for you."

"Thank you for the suggestion, Professor. You've given me something new to consider." Hermione stood up and slowly walked out of the office, deep in thought.

--

Hermione re-joined Harry and Ron in the Great Hall for dinner, sitting down opposite them.

The boys gave her an odd look, wondering what was up.

"I'm sorry I left your practice early, I just wanted to ask McGonagall something."

Harry nodded. "We figured as much. Is something troubling you?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, not really." She was about to start eating, but then spotted the weekend edition of the Daily Prophet on the table, or rather what was left of it. Its pages were in disarray, as various Gryffindors had previously pulled their favorite sections to read, only to haphazardly stack them when they were done. She put her fork down and rummaged through the newspaper for the job section, which was on the very bottom and still in relatively good condition.

Ron and Harry exchanged glances and shrugged as they watched her run her finger down the ads, reading them intently.

One of the ads caught her attention, and she paused to re-read it:

--

Request for proposal. A method is needed to induce

transformation in volunteer werewolves when the full

moon is _not_ present, to expedite the development

and testing of potential treatments for lycanthropy.

500-galleon bounty for viable solution.

Send proposals to #1249, Edinburgh Owlery, Scotland.

--

Ron paused chewing his mashed potatoes just long enough to ask, "Find something interesting?"

Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron's table manners, or lack thereof. She put her hand on the newspaper and spun it around for him and Harry to read, and pointed to the ad in question with her index finger.

Ron nearly choked on his food. "500 galleons?"

Harry stared at the ad hopefully, thinking of former Professor Lupin. "Do you suppose they're close to finding a cure?"

Hermione shook her head. "The ad says they want to _expedite development and testing_, so I'd wager it's not developed yet. But still, the idea of not having to wait a month between tests would certainly accelerate the process."

"If anyone could find a way to get a werewolf to change between full moons, it would be you, Hermione," Harry commented.

Hermione blushed slightly. "Thanks for the compliment. Mind you, the problem is far from trivial―there are unknown variables, for example. But I see this as an interesting challenge."

Ron chewed a chicken leg, pondering. This time, he waited until his mouth was empty before speaking. "But Dumbledore won't let students write to people they don't know," he cautioned.

"You do have a point, Ron," Hermione began. "But it's for a good cause...and it's not like I'd be risking my safety by corresponding with some random stranger, this is a plea for help with research, which would help hundreds of people in Mr. Lupin's situation." _And it would be fun to make a little money while testing how well I like being a researcher. Who knows, maybe this is an opportunity to get my foot in the door by establishing my credentials._

"I think you should try, Hermione," Harry advised. "But you might want to use a pseudonym, and go through the owlery in Hogsmeade, just to play it safe."

Hermione nodded. "That's not a bad idea." She turned the newspaper around and studied the ad again. "Actually, I'm not hungry right now. I'll catch up with you two later...I'm headed to the library."

And with that, Hermione got up and left the Great Hall, taking that part of the newspaper with her.

--

note: 500 galleons equates to about $4,830 US.

Also, 10 points to the first person who figures out what's special about the title of this story.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Hermione was rarely seen outside of classes for the next ten days, with the exception that she usually managed to appear in the Great Hall for breakfast and supper. Harry and Ron knew what she was up to, but couldn't persuade her to take a break from her new obsession. They wanted help with their studies, but every time they went looking for her in the library, she was nowhere to be found.

Then on Thursday evening, while Harry and Ron were playing a game of wizard's chess on the floor of the Gryffindor common room, Hermione climbed through the portrait-hole and made her way over towards them. She sat down in an armchair beside them with a look of satisfaction on her face, and produced a thick packet of parchment from her leather bookbag.

The boys turned and inclined their heads to look up at their studious friend. "Have you figured it out?", Harry asked, though from her smug expression he knew it was a redundant question.

"I believe so," Hermione confirmed. "Actually, I've formulated _three_ distinct approaches to the problem of forcing a werewolf to manifest his lupine form. I'm willing to wager that at least one of them will work satisfactorily."

Harry smiled. "That's great! We're proud of you, Hermione."

Ron, though, didn't share Harry's enthusiasm. Instead, he returned his attention to the chess board.

Harry arched an eyebrow at his friend. "Ron? Is something wrong?"

Ron sighed. "Yes, while she's been working feverishly on her little project, she hasn't been around to help _us_. Snape said my essay was _rubbish, _and now I have to re-do it for half credit!"

Hermione winced. "Ron, I'm sorry I was so scarce these past couple weeks, but you understand how important this project is to me."

Ron shook his head. "No, I _don't_. There was no rush to submit your results―you could've spent half as many hours on it as you did, for twice as many days, and then had the time to spare to help us with _our_ work as well." At that, Ron swiped his arm over the chess board, knocking most of the pieces over, then got up off the floor and stormed up the spiral staircase towards the boys' dormitory.

Harry was stunned by his friend's words. "Ron! You're being a selfish git, you know that?", he called after him.

The next thing they heard was a door being slammed shut.

Harry turned to face Hermione again. "I'm sorry, Hermione. You know how Ron can be when..." He stopped speaking when he realized Hermione was crying. Tears were rolling off her face, leaving damp spots on the parchment in her lap.

Hermione wiped her face with her sleeve, and wordlessly stood up to retreat to her own dormitory.

Harry, left all alone, had nothing to do but pick up the scattered chess pieces and settle down in the armchair to finish that day's assigned readings.

--

Fortunately for Hermione, that Saturday fell on a Hogsmeade weekend. As McGonagall gathered the students together and collected permission slips, Hermione noticed that Ron was also present in the group. She tried approaching him, but he turned around and moved away upon spotting her.

_Fine, if he's going to be that way, then I won't offer to help him catch up on his schoolwork._

Harry was standing near Hermione, and he sighed when Ron made it clear that he was going to be stubborn. "I'll try to talk to him," he promised.

"Do as you wish," Hermione replied. "To be honest, he's stretched my patience a bit thin. At least _you_ express sincere appreciation when I provide help."

--

Hermione's first stop in Hogsmeade, of course, was the owlery. It was a busy place, with hundreds of owls of every description to deliver letters and parcels with varying speed and degrees of reliability. She entered the queue for the service counter, and had to wait several minutes to reach the front of the line.

"I'd like to rent a numbered mailbox here," she explained. "A small one would suffice."

The postmaster, a short, elderly wizard with long, white hair, smiled warmly back to her. "Very well, our smallest boxes are five galleons per year. I'll be back in a second with your box number and key." He then disappeared into another room behind the counter.

Meanwhile, Hermione dug through her pockets. Five galleons was a lot of money for a student, at least for her, but having a numbered mailbox here would allow her to correspond with clients without revealing her identity, or even the fact that she was still in school, which would otherwise have made her research appear less credible.

No sooner did she place the five coins on the counter, than the postmaster returned. "Thank you, Miss. Your box number is 87, and here is your key. If you lose your key, you will lose your right to access the box. In eleven months, we'll leave a note in it advising you that it's time to renew for another year." He handed her the key and a card with the number written on it. "Oh, and if any package arrives for you that's too large to fit in the box, we'll keep it behind the counter and put a card in the box with instructions directing you to pick it up."

Hermione smiled and accepted the key and card. "Thank you." She regarded the key for a moment, and recognized that it was a magic key, meaning that the lock it was bound to couldn't be forced open without an awful lot of effort. She then walked into the room adjacent to the lobby, to find the box and test the key.

Built into the wall, the metal box was three inches wide, six inches tall, and about a foot deep. More than adequate for her needs, unless her clients were eccentric enough to pay in actual gold, but that was unlikely.

Hermione then walked over to a writing counter on the opposite side of the room, where parchment and ink were provided to patrons. She retrieved the research paper from her bag, and began writing a cover letter:

--

Dear Sir or Madam,

The attached report is in response to your recent request in the Daily Prophet. I have outlined three possible solutions for inducing transformation in werewolves; hopefully one will be suitable for your needs.

Please direct any response to #87, Hogsmeade Owlery, Scotland.

--

She paused, wondering how she should sign the letter. After several minutes of pondering, she appended to it, "Sincerely, Too Clever For Her Own Good".

Hermione slipped the sheets of parchment into an envelope, sealed and addressed it, then re-entered the queue, in order to pay to have the envelope expedited.

--

note: 5 galleons equates to about $48.30 US.

And regarding the challenge at the end of the prior chapter, the title of this story _does_ refer to Voldemort, but that's _not_ what's unique about it...


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Author's note: congratulations to the anonymous reader who discovered that the title of this story is an anagram of "I am Lord Voldemort" and "Tom Marvolo Riddle". Clever, eh?

--

After mailing the envelope, Hermione wandered through town to the small book shop. Although it offered only a limited selection of reading material, she could always order other titles through it. However, with her finances depleted until she could send an owl to Gringotts, the most she could do was peruse the list of soon-to-be-released titles and make a note of what she planned to buy on the next Hogsmeade Weekend.

An hour later, she bumped into Harry and Ron outside the Honeydukes sweetshop.

Harry spotted her. "Hey, Hermione." Seeing that Ron was unresponsive, he elbowed him. "Ron here has something to say to you."

"Oh?" Hermione turned her attention to the source of her recent tears, and crossed her arms.

"I'm...sorry, Hermione. I was being a bit of a selfish prat."

Hermione arched an eyebrow. "A_ bit_?"

Ron sighed. "All right, I was more than _a bit_. I should've just asked for help when I saw you in the Great Hall, instead of assuming you'd be around for us after classes."

"So why _didn't_ you ask me in the Great Hall, then?"

Ron looked down at his shoes instead of directly at her. "Because I didn't want the other Gryffindors to overhear me asking for help. I'm lost without you."

At once, Hermione was sympathetic._ I suppose I can give the poor bloke another chance._ "Apology accepted. But you'll have to promise to put more effort into the assigned readings."

Ron nodded, and both he and Harry looked relieved―granted, the former moreso than the latter―and Ron scratched his head. "Um, Harry thinks I should make it up to you somehow. How about I start by treating you to a drink at the Three Broomsticks? Oh, and this..." He offered a small box of chocolates, which he'd presumably just bought moments ago.

Hermione smiled. "Acceptable."

--

Elsewhere, at sunset, the Dark Lord Voldemort arose from bed―he was a nocturnal creature, after all―and used a bit of wandless magic to light the nearby oil lamp. Finding the stone floor to be deathly cold, he hissed, and shuffled into his favorite leporine slippers before walking to his private study.

Wormtail customarily placed his master's mail and the _Daily Prophet_ on the desk in the study during the day, while Voldemort was still asleep. This allowed him to be conveniently out of range when it was read, meaning he could avoid getting hexed if Voldemort wasn't pleased with what he read (which was often the case).

Voldemort lit the fireplace, sat down, and began opening the envelopes one by one with a long fingernail. Most of the day's mail was mundane: the water bill, a subscription renewal notice for _Evil Overlords Monthly_, some sweepstakes junk mail which he promptly incinerated (he wondered how he'd gotten on that mailing list), a status report from Bellatrix, etc. At the bottom of the stack, however, was a large envelope addressed from Hogsmeade.

He pulled out the packet of parchment and began reading the cover page. ..._The attached report is in response to your recent request in the Daily Prophet. I have outlined three possible solutions for inducing transformation in werewolves; hopefully one will be suitable for your needs..._

Voldemort was immediately skeptical. His ruse to find a way to make Fenrir Greyback and his werewolf followers more useful hadn't garnered many responses; indeed, the two proposals previously received were both riddled with glaring oversights, rendering them not even potentially workable. Werewolf physiology was a poorly understood subject, for obvious reasons, and trying to adequately simulate all of the relevant effects of the full moon was more difficult than most realized.

He continued reading. There were perhaps twenty pages of very neat handwriting. It began with a careful analysis of the dozen or so stimuli that the full moon could provide, that a partial moon could not, sorted by probability of relevance. Following that was an analysis of how these stimuli could trigger effects in those afflicted with lycanthropy. And after that, as promised, were three proposed sequences of spells, charms, potions, and even foods to be eaten by the volunteer werewolves, with each sequence designed to efficiently simulate a particular subset of the full moon's special effects, followed by an exposition of the systematic logic behind the author's proposals, all in meticulous detail. At the end was a disclaimer, that none of the proposals were likely to work when the moon was new or crescent, or not overhead, because the author's approaches depended on at least a partial moon being present.

Voldemort's eyes widened a little more with each passing page, and he read more intently. _These approaches might actually work._ He was at once impressed by the perfect logic and reasoning―he felt a sense of kinship with the author―and immediately flipped back to the cover page to determine who had submitted the proposal, as he'd previously glossed over the signature.

_Too Clever For Her Own Good. _He carefully analyzed those six words to deduce a profile of the author. _A witch―perhaps a bit self-confident, but justifiably so―who obviously feels intellectually isolated from others, and wishes to remain anonymous. But why?_

Voldemort was now in a relatively good mood. He called Wormtail to his study.

Moments later, the rodent-like lump of a man appeared at his side, fearful of being hexed. "Master?"

"Fear not, Wormtail. I want you to summon Fenrir at once."

The servant relaxed noticeably. "Yes, my lord."


	4. The Second Project

Chapter 4

Over the next couple weeks, Hermione made it a point to spend extra time with Ron in order to get him caught up to where he should be, and things soon returned to normal. She even resumed having lunch in the Great Hall, much to Ron and Harry's approval. To their credit, the boys now tried to make it worth Hermione's time to help them, since she'd complained about not feeling appreciated. For example, Ron would carry her books between classes and run errands for her, and Harry helped her with the practical aspects of Defense Against the Dark Arts, the only area in which he bested her (besides flying on a broomstick).

Saturday afternoon came. There would be no trip to Hogsmeade that day, and it was raining outside, so the trio gathered in the boys' dormitory. Harry and Ron were playing a tie-breaker game of wizard's chess on Harry's bed, while Hermione was reading the _Daily Prophet_ on Ron's bed. Neville, Dean, and Seamus were elsewhere, so the room was relatively quiet.

After putting Ron in check, Harry glanced over at Hermione. "Looking for another research project to work on?", he asked.

Hermione flipped a page over. "Yes, since I haven't had the opportunity to check my mail in Hogsmeade, I still don't know if I've yet received a response to my proposals for the werewolf problem. I've been a bit on edge all week, so I thought I'd find another problem to think about."

Ron promptly adopted a worried expression on his face.

"I'm sure she'll make time for us this time, Ron," Harry reassured.

"Oh, look here!" Hermione pointed to an ad in the paper and read it aloud:

--

Request for proposal. A method is sought to administer

healing charms to dragons and other magical creatures,

possibly via partial blood transfusion. Given the extreme

resistance of such creatures to conventional magic, even

incomplete solutions are potentially useful, and will be

considered for reward.

1000-galleon bounty.

Send proposals to #344, Birmingham, England.

--

Ron gasped. "A thousand galleons? You could buy a _Firebolt_ with that!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I think I'll stick to apparating, thanks."

"Come on, Hermione, who ever heard of a witch who didn't ride a broom?"

Hermione glared back at Ron. "I really don't appreciate being compared to other witches, Ron."

"Take it easy," Harry interjected. "Ron, how she chooses to travel is her own business."

Ron sighed. "Fine, I won't say another word on the subject..." He studied the chessboard for a moment, planning an escape route for his king.

"It's a bit odd that it's worded somewhat similarly to the request I worked on before, given that the address is completely different..."

"So when is the next Hogsmeade trip, anyway?", Harry asked.

"I think it's two weeks away," Hermione replied.

Harry looked thoughtful. "Want to check your mail tonight, to see if you got a reply?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Someone in Hogsmeade would surely see us, and alert the headmaster."

Harry adopted a mischievous grin. "Not if we used my father's cloak..."

--

Just before curfew, the trio slipped into the one-eyed-witch passageway that led to the Honeydukes cellar. It was a long trip, so Harry and Ron passed the time by discussing the standings of their favorite quidditch teams.

When they reached the end of the tunnel, they draped the cloak over themselves, and made their way up the staircase. Fortunately, the sweet shop was still open, so they were able to follow a customer out the building without opening the door themselves, which would have aroused suspicion.

When they reached the post office lobby, Hermione retrieved her key and opened her box. To her delight, there was a card and an envelope inside. Hermione quickly read the card and the back of the envelope.

The card read: "Return this card to the postal clerk to claim your package. If not claimed within one year, the package will be discarded." Scribbled on the back of the card was Hermione's box number, and the date the package had arrived.

The envelope was postmarked from the Edinburgh owlery.

"They sent a reply!", Hermione said in a slightly higher-pitched voice.

"Shhh!," Ron admonished.

"Sorry," Hermione whispered. "We'll have to wait until the next Hogsmeade trip before I can claim the package, whatever it might be. The clerk will realize I'm a student who shouldn't be here, if I claimed it now. Let's return to the castle, and I'll read the letter there."

"You're the boss," Harry whispered.

Hermione locked her box back up, and the trio began the return trip.

--

They returned to the Gryffindor common room well after curfew, causing more than one raised eyebrow. If they were any other people, their classmates would yell at them for risking the loss of house points. But given their reputation, nobody said a negative word.

"Welcome back," Seamus called out as he witnessed their entry. He then proceeded to shush some first-years who started a commotion.

"Come on," Hermione said as she led her two friends to a quiet corner of the room. After they sat down, she dug out the letter, opened it, and read it aloud:

"Dear _Too Clever For Her Own Good,_

We have reviewed your submission and found it most useful. Many will benefit from your insights. Your reward shall be delivered in a package accompanying this letter. We apologize for the inconvenience of sending actual gold."

She blinked. "It's unsigned? How unusual..."

"500 actual galleons would take up quite a bit of space," Harry observed. "Where will you put it all?"

"I wouldn't want to lug them all the way through that tunnel," Ron added.

"I suppose I'll have to have it delivered to Gringotts," Hermione answered. "Though it'll cost a fortune to send that much weight. A pity that gold can't be shrunk like other things."

"Well, we could bury it somewhere," Ron suggested. "Maybe in the Shrieking Shack's cellar, where nobody would look for it."

"That's actually not a bad idea," Hermione admitted. "It's not like I need the money for anything right away, after all. Thanks, Ron."

Ron adopted a smug expression. It wasn't often that Hermione found any of his suggestions useful.


End file.
